


An Ordinary Day on Starlane St.

by wolfzaa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Kid Fic, Kid!Harry, M/M, POV Outsider, Raising Harry, not quite but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 02:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfzaa/pseuds/wolfzaa
Summary: The first week Mr Black had moved into Number 11, Starlane Street, the neighbours were frightened.  The elderly called him a troublemaker.  Starlane Street was a peaceful, quiet area.  Nobody wanted to befriend with a troublemaker or a criminal, so nobody dared to mess with him.Mr Black had a nice, quiet six-year-old son named Harry, and shared his house with another nice, scrawny, kinda weird bloke called Mr Lupin.The neighbours didn't know what Mr Lupin actually was to Mr Black, but they wondered.(Or, Wolfstar raising Harry together and Sirius was free of charges.)





	An Ordinary Day on Starlane St.

**Author's Note:**

> I need more tall Sirius and unknown-height Remus fic, so why not? ;)
> 
> Now beta'd by the lovely [Sostrata](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sostrata/pseuds/sostrata)! I've probably said this before but you're absolutely wonderful! ♥
> 
> Btw, Thai version [หาอ่านได้ทางนี้เลยค่ะ](https://writer.dek-d.com/dekd/writer/viewlongc.php?id=1197067&chapter=68)

  
  
The first week Mr Black moved into Number 11, Starlane Street, the neighbours were frightened.   
  
Mr Black was young, around late-twenties, and had a big motorbike that caught everybody’s eye from day one.  Teenagers couldn’t take their eyes off it, half wary, half in awe.  The elderly called him a troublemaker -- rebellious and dangerous -- which many parents seemed to agree with.  Starlane Street was a peaceful, quiet area.  Nobody wanted to befriend with a troublemaker or a criminal, so nobody dared to mess with him for the time being.   
  
Mr Black had a nice, quiet, six-year-old son named Harry, and shared his house with another nice, scrawny, and kinda weird bloke called Mr Lupin.   
  
Harry’s eyes were a beautiful shade of green and his hair was as dark as Mr Black’s; though the boy’s was as messy as if it had never met a comb before.  He was so skinny the neighbours were worried for the boy’s well-being no matter how happy the kid might seem.  The only thing that prevented them from reporting Mr Black was the way Harry smiled at his father, as though he had hung the moon.   
  
Nobody knew what Mr Lupin actually was to Mr Black, and nobody dared to ask.  Mr Lupin always wore well-worn clothes and soft, woolen sweaters.  There was a hint of grey in his sandy brown hair at the temples, even though he was the same age as his housemate.  He also had scars scattered all over his rarely uncovered skin.  These would have been frightening if the man had aggressive eyes and a menacing smile, but he never did, so people assumed he was a full-time nanny Mr Black had hired for Harry so he didn’t have to deal with the kid himself.   
  
On the second week, Mr Fletcher’s car died in front of Number 11.   
  
It was Saturday afternoon, and the neighbours were terrified when they saw what happened.  Mr Fletcher’s car was as old as its owner.  Everyone knew how it temporarily died every once in a while, but no one was prepared to see it stopped in front of the newest neighbour’s house.  Mr Fletcher himself, too, panicked when he saw the house number.  He was a lovely, glasses-wearing old man; all white and wrinkled and slow the same way he drove his car.  He was the last person people wanted Mr Black to lay his hands on.   
  
“Wow.  One hell of a problem you’ve got there, mister.” As if on cue, Mr Black showed up. “Nice car.”   
  
Mr Fletcher’s face went pale as the tall, young man approached him in a leather jacket and intimidating combat boots.  His long hair was tied up into a loose man bun.  There was an amused glint flashing inside Mr Black’s piercing grey eyes and a wide grin plastered on his unshaven face, yet Mr Fletcher was shivering in fear nonetheless.   
  
There was a chance Mr Fletcher could have a heart attack here; fortunately, he didn’t.   
  
A couple of teenagers passing by stopped to see what would happen next, mainly not knowing if they should interfere.  A few women across the street watched in mild terror through their windows, telling themselves that they were worried, not nosy.  Then, to everyone’s surprise, Mr Black strode back into his garage, came back with a tool box, and began fixing the poor thing before Mr Fletcher could say otherwise.   
  
“Sirius?” Mr Lupin called out from the front door.  He didn’t look well; his face was paler than usual and there were dark circles under his eyes.  Harry was hiding behind his lanky legs. “Is everything alright?”   
  
“Yep.  Er, except this bloody car, obviously.  Sorry about the noise,” Mr Black answered sheepishly, knowing all too well how the machine just made a loud bang -- loud enough to wake anyone within a three house range.  Mr Lupin nodded in acknowledgement before he turned to the still dumbfounded Mr Fletcher.   
  
“Do you want to come inside?” the man asked politely. “I can get you some tea if you don’t mind.  Oh, and Sirius?”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Go clean up the garage after you’ve done here, alright?  I swear to every-bloody-thing in the world I will _not_ go in there after you mess it up again.  Ever.”   
  
“You’re no fun,” Mr Black mumbled but didn’t argue any further.  “Your wish is my command anyway, Moonymoons.”   
  
“Go away, you.”   
  
“Nah, busy.”   
  
“And you still say my wish is your command,” Mr. Lupin grumbled halfheartedly.  Mr Black barked out a genuine laugh; nice and captivating the way no neighbour could ever have expected.  He hummed in agreement as Mr Lupin told him to hurry up, and magically brought the old thing back to life again in record time.   
  
Mr Fletcher found the three of them at his door two days later.  Mr Lupin explained how he had a chronic illness which required a couple days monthly check-up, details left unsaid, but the man seemed sick enough so Mr and Mrs Fletcher agreed to look after Harry for a day or two.  Harry was a weird kid who sometimes did weird harmless things, but he was a polite kid altogether.  Sasha, the girl next door who went to the same school, had mentioned that Harry once talked to a snake during the school trip to the zoo.  Mr Black chuckled and said, “Let him,” while Mr Lupin watched them with worried eyes; though he didn’t comment on the matter.  Later on, Harry spent every month around the neighbourhood during Mr Lupin’s check-up.  This led to the revelation that Harry was actually Mr Black’s godson.  He initially grew up with his hateful aunt ever since his parents had got in an unfortunate accident.  Mr Black had fought tooth and nail to get the parental rights to the boy -- how, they didn’t mention -- before they moved here to Starlane Street.   
  
No wonder Harry loved Mr Black so much, mused the adults who had let the boy stay at their houses.   
  
People looked at Mr Black with entirely different eyes after that.  They also ditched their first assumption about Mr Lupin because, after a conversation like that, he could be anything but a mere employee, while Mr Black became ‘that nice, handsome young man’ instead of ‘that dangerous _why-did-he-have-to-move-here_ punk’.  He still had his bike but most teenagers and men thought it was rather cool.  He still had his leather jacket and bad-boy vibes too, but women found him very much attractive.   
  
Girls began giggling and blushing every time Mr Black waved them a greeting or shot them a smile. (“It’s not my fault he’s _that_ gorgeous!” huffed Stefani, a girl from Number 15, when mocked by her brother.  She also claimed that a few friends from school visited her more often just because of him.)  On the other hand, the older ones seemed to prefer Mr Lupin’s company since he always ended up chatting and having tea with them the day he came to pick up Harry.  He had interesting comments on books and a sarcastic sense of humour that amused them to no end.   
  
After a while, Mr Lupin found a job at a bookstore nearby, leaving Harry with Mr Black during the daytime.  No one knew what Mr Black did for a living, however.  He helped fix cars for a few people here and there but wasn’t an actual mechanic.  By the time he decided to open his own small auto repair shop, it was already a few years later.  Before that, people were having fun trying to guess what exactly he did.  Was he a writer?  An artist?  Did he do something illegal?  (Nah.)  Or was he from some old, rich family with a huge inheritance?  No one ever found out.   
  
Other than that, people started to wonder what the two men were to each other.   
  
They seemed rather close; too close to be just housemates, and sometimes even too intimate to be just friends.   
  
Mrs Crayton from the bookstore said Mr Lupin had fainted once; tired and hungry, she presumed.  Harry was on the phone when she called his home; then Mr Black appeared in front of the shop in less than twenty minutes.  She didn’t want to know how many traffic laws he had broken driving that motorbike there.  Obviously, neither did Mr Lupin, who already felt better by the time Mr Black came.   
  
“Sirius, what in the bloody---”   
  
“You _fainted_!” Mr Black roared, face red and frowning.  Mrs Crayton knew better than to try to stop an angry -- and maybe a little bit mad -- grownup man; her own safety had to come first. “You fainted _again_!  You knew how bad the last fu--- the last check-up was and now you’re skipping breakfast?  What the actual _fuck_ , Remus?  If you don’t---!”   
  
“Sirius!   _Stop_!”   
  
Mr Black shut his mouth instinctively, though his eyes were still shining furiously.  Silence swallowed the whole store within a second.  Mr Lupin let out a long-suffering sigh, apologising to everyone present, then dragged Mr Black to the back.  Mrs Crayton said they hissed at each other for a while, fighting as quietly as they could.  Mr Lupin seemed to win the battle since Mr Black finally trailed after him into the store with a pout and went back home without making another scene.  Though his gaze was fixed on Mr Lupin until the door broke them apart.   
  
As if Mr Lupin was the only thing left in his life, Mrs Crayton later told others.  Little did she know how close her statement was to the truth.   
  
From then on, people were desperate to know what they were to each other, exactly.   
  
Most of them chose to ask Mr Lupin, since he was supposed to be the easy one.  His answers were unhelpful, though, saying: “Sirius?  He’s an old friend from school,” as if they hadn’t already known that, or, “What did Sirius do this time?  If that’s the case, no.  No, no, no.  I don’t know him,” or a deadpanned, “What do you think we are?” with a raised eyebrow.  Unfortunately, if they were a tad bolder and asked Mr Black a bit more directly, more stubbornly, they would have known the truth a lot faster.   
  
Meanwhile, if asked, Harry would go with, “They are Padfoot and Moony, of course.”  When someone pointed out that Padfoot was his dog, Harry would just shrug and ask back innocently, “Why not?  Don’t you think he looks a lot like Sirius?  I do.  Moony does too.”   
  
Mr Lupin (a.k.a. Moony, according to Harry) almost choked on his own laughter the first time he heard that answer.  Padfoot was a bear-sized black dog Mr Black owned.  He was smart and dependable, enough for the adults to let Harry go for a walk with him alone, but people didn’t see him much except for his walk time, which wasn’t daily.  Mr Lupin said he was bloody lazy, while Mr Black protested with feeling.   
  
“He’s not lazy, he’s a guard dog!  He’s taking care of Harry from inside the house!  He’s the best dog you’d ever have!”   
  
Still, Mr Black’s protectiveness of his dog’s honour didn’t answer the question left hanging among the neighbourhood.   
  
The most boring guess was that they were old friends, just the way Mr Lupin had supplied.  Maybe they were distant relatives, but the theory was busted within two days, thanked to Mr Black who laughed like a madman when someone mentioned it.  Maybe Mr Lupin had owed Mr Black big time, or was saved somehow and continued living with him.  Or maybe it was the other way around, which could explain why Mr Black let Mr Lupin live with him when he had nowhere to go -- Mr Lupin was unemployed when they moved in, to begin with.   
  
Or maybe, maybe, they were more than just friends.   
  
Maybe they were everything.   
  
Mr Lupin made it harder to tell; so it was all up to Mr Black, whose eyes could or could not be the best support they could have at the moment.  Those misty greys usually mixed with mischievous glimpses and amused flickers, but mischief always died down when he stole a glance at Mr Lupin, assuming that nobody was watching.  It was the same gaze Mrs Crayton had witnessed before he left her bookstore that day, the one that kissed every part of Mr Lupin without physically touching, tracing every scar nobody had ever seen under those layers of jumpers; deep and intense enough to make any third person blush just by looking from afar.   
  
They had no idea how Mr Lupin never noticed those gazes; or was he just that good in ignoring such gestures, nobody knew.   
  
A lucky man he was, having someone looking at him like that.   
  
It took Mr Lupin almost a year to let his guard down around other people, and to quietly let stars shine in his eyes whenever he looked at Mr Black.   
  
The two never showed affection in public, but Stefani claimed she once saw Mr Lupin rushing out to pick up a newspaper with a red face, swollen _I’ve-just-been-thoroughly-kissed_ lips, and Mr Black’s barking laughter in the background.  Therefore nobody was surprised that one day -- months later -- they would see a big bruise-shape mark on Mr Lupin neck, just below his ear where his jaw met the neckline, where his collar could never reach.   
  
Mr Lupin groaned and blushed madly every time someone stared at it, both directly and subtly, since the mark caught people’s eyes better than any of his scars ever had.   
  
(“Stop fretting, Remus.  They _knew_.  No one cares if you’re wearing a hickey or two.”   
  
“No one cares my _arse_.  I told you not to--- _Stop laughing_ , you dickhead!”)   
  
They never made their relationship official.  Mr Lupin still kept deflecting like a pro.  Mr Black’s response varied when asked; from winking meaningfully to gasping dramatically and stage-whispering something like, “Shh.  I’m bound by confidentiality with Messr Moony here, you see.  We don’t talk about this, alright?”  He was having a good time telling people how he couldn’t say a word, however, and Mr Lupin would just roll his eyes at that.  Meanwhile, Harry would still insist on his earlier answer, saying, “They’re Sirius and Moony, of course,” which might be the best description of all.   
  
People living on Starlane Street concluded that Mr Black and Mr Lupin were, definitely, more than just friends.   
  
They were, after all, everything.   
  



End file.
